


A Rare Man

by ElentariR



Series: Getting Back to Myself [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Guilt, Noelle - Freeform, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Starbucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:06:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7176794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElentariR/pseuds/ElentariR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky visits Starbucks for the first time. He just wanted coffee, not a migraine, dammit,</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rare Man

**Author's Note:**

> The is the second part in the series.

The gift card sat on Bucky’s countertop for an entire month. He eyed it every morning and ignored it every evening. He just couldn’t bring himself to use it – felt dirty, somehow. He wasn’t worthy. Besides, he had done what any non-monstrous human would have done, even if he didn’t fit in that category. So Bucky let the card sit there untouched. No matter how hard he tried, the card wouldn’t let Bucky forget about Noelle. He couldn’t throw the card or her gift away – he had tried, but that felt dirty, too.

He hadn’t seen Noelle Grey or Steven since then, either. Of course, he had started leaving the building earlier and returning later, which had absolutely nothing to do with them, Bucky reminded himself. The warehouse had increased his hours – yes, that was it. It wasn’t his demons coming out to play.

Two months after the incident, Bucky ducked into the Starbucks three blocks from his apartment building to avoid the torrential downpour. He had gone on an early morning run, which had been rudely interrupted by nature’s thunderstorm. After an already long week, he hadn’t felt like drawing attention to himself by continuing to run through the storm. Besides, he had heard that Starbucks was ‘the bomb’ - a phrase that Bucky had yet to rationalize, but accepted as a positive review.

Bucky’s eyes widened as he took in the menu board. “What the hell?” he muttered with a frown. He just wanted coffee, not a migraine, dammit. When had coffee gotten so damn complicated? Surely it hadn’t been that way _before_. And the price! What had the world come to, that even life’s necessity was that expensive? The shock of the board momentarily distracted him from the buzz of activity around him that threatened to overwhelm him.

The bell on the door chimed. Bucky stepped to the side to allow them to pass with a familiar tingle of familiarity. He would clearly have to study the menu and observe others order before he attempted to do it himself.

“Good morning, Mr. Smith.” Bucky’s head whipped to his right at the quiet, hesitant feminine voice. Noelle Grey. Her body was angled towards him, but leaned towards the counter. The tentative smile and her posture indicated that she was uncertain whether she should carry the conversation further. She straightened and glanced between Bucky and the menu board and then around the room. “First time at Starbucks?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah.” Miss. Grey smiled slightly and laughed under her breath, though not mockingly.

“You’re a rare man, Mr. Smith.” She hesitated, opening her mouth as if to offer help, but she thought the better of it. Bucky worked to release the tension in his jaw. “Well, I’ll be here for a bit if you care to join.” She waved her hand, shooting him a friendly smile, before stepping in line to order.

Bucky scanned her form. Black yoga pants – as he had come to learn they were called – and a fitted pink jacket made of a similar material that appeared ideal for running. Her soaked hair was pulled up in a – oh, what was it called – ponytail. Steven was not at her side. It was a Saturday – school was not in session – but Noelle Grey hardly seemed like the kind of mother to leave her child unattended. Perhaps her husband was looking after him. Bucky noticed the simple wedding band on her left hand. He wondered, then, at the signature on the blasted card. That a wife would sign such a note, but not the husband surprised Bucky. He certainly neither needed or wanted such recognition as Miss. Grey had given him, but the card was proving interesting. Mrs. Grey, who had never glanced askance at him or seemed afraid of him, was certainly becoming more intriguing.

Bucky watched a businessman in an expensive suit before Mrs. Grey order a drink that was ten words long and didn’t sound like coffee at all. He slipped in line after the elderly woman who stood behind Mrs. Grey. “Grande dark roast, no room, please.” Mrs. Grey was quick, efficient, and polite. She came away with a steaming cup of coffee. The corner of her mouth tipped upwards when she passed him, heading towards an empty table in the back of the coffeeshop. Bucky blinked. Her friendliness knew no bounds and he didn’t know what to do with it.

The barista eyed Bucky skeptically when he stepped up but politely asked for his order. “Um… Grande dark roast, no room.” He echoed Mrs. Grey’s order and hoped he had actually ordered coffee. He handed over the cash ‘Kelly’ requested and accepted the warm cup. Bucky started to walk towards the door. Halfway there, he found himself stopping and looking over his shoulder. Mrs. Grey was sipping her coffee and watching the rain fall outside the window. She looked so serene that he couldn’t bring himself to go over to her. Not that he wanted to, anyway.

And so he walked out the door and into the rain.

0

The coffee hadn’t been terrible. He had certainly had worse. He couldn’t particularly remember when, but he remembered the taste of stale, weak coffee. Flashes of gunfire and tall, snow-covered pines accompanied the taste. Bucky raked a hand through his hair and shook his head. He went back to Starbucks the next Saturday morning after his run. Mrs. Grey was not there. He told himself that the feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t disappointment, and that he only lingered in Starbucks for those few minutes because he wanted to blend in. It certainly wasn’t to see Mrs. Grey’s friendly face. He most certainly didn’t crave positive human interaction.

Bucky almost didn’t grab coffee the Saturday after that. It was really a split-second decision that had the bell chiming to mark his entrance. There. Sitting in the same corner as the last time he had seen here there, Mrs. Grey was sipping coffee and reading a book. Her legs, clad in dark blue denim, were crossed under the table, her damp braided hair draped over her shoulder. She didn’t notice his entrance. Not that she should.

The barista handed Bucky his coffee without a word, but her narrowed eyes made Bucky double-check his posture. He couldn’t be scaring Mrs. Grey. He was wearing his cap, his shoulders were haunched. Dark blue shirt, denim jeans, nondescript sneakers. He had made an effort over the past few months to appear as non-threatening as possible, but it rarely worked. At least he didn’t draw eyes like he used to. That was something, he supposed.

Mustering his courage, Bucky marched resolutely over to the secluded table. He felt some of the Soldier creeping into his walk. Mrs. Grey looked up at his approach. She smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Smith.”

For a moment words refused to form. He cleared his throat. “May I join you?” Bucky glanced at her book. “I don’t wish to disturb you.” He was already regretting stepping up to her. She placed her bookmark in the middle and closed the book, setting it aside.

“Oh, not at all. I just finished the chapter.” Mrs. Grey assured. “Of course you are welcome.” Bucky blinked. He hadn’t expected her to agree. He pulled took up the seat across from her.

“It’s...a beautiful day out.” Bucky winced internally. He wasn’t required to make small-talk with his coworkers. They largely ignored him or kept their conversations with him restricted to work. They talked to each other plenty, though, and Bucky decided it would be better to imitate them. Although there were a few things they loved to discuss that he would never dream of talking to a dame about, much less one as respectable as Mrs. Grey.

“It is.” Mrs. Grey agreed. “I went for a run earlier and it was wonderful. I’m not able to get out often. Did you just come in from a run?” Bucky nodded. The minuscule uplift in her eyebrows indicated that he needed to speak.

“Yes.” He said. Mrs. Grey smiled in encouragement. Bucky’s mind seemed to freeze. “What book are you reading?” He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

Mrs. Grey flushed slightly, but obligingly held up her book for his perusal. _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_. “It’s a wonderful book. Have you read it?” Bucky shook his head. “You really must read it, Mr. Smith. I know they’re technically children’s books, but they’re amazing. There are surprisingly adult themes in them. Give them a shot sometime.”

“I haven’t read much recently.” Bucky admitted. “But I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.” Mrs. Grey cocked her head. There was momentarily silence. He may have lost his ability to make small talk, but he excelled at reading body language. She was contemplating whether or not she wanted to voice her thoughts.

“How long have you been out?”

Bucky’s hold on this cup tightened, though he knew she wouldn’t notice. Her soft question made his blood ran cold. “Pardon?” His tone was even. Calm.

“You were in the Army, unless I miss my guess.” Mrs. Grey decided to rephrase her question into a statement. Bucky’s eyes narrowed. Mrs. Grey looked down at her cup with an embarrassed grimace. “I apologize if I was insensitive. You just have that look about you. That’s all. I’m sorry if I dredged up painful memories.” Bucky could see raw pain in her green eyes when she looked up. “My husband, he was a Marine before he was a cop.” Her short, quiet laugh was nervous. She knew she was treading into dangerous waters. “I know the signs.”

 _Was_. Mrs. Grey was a widow.

“What happened to him?” He realized as soon as the words left his mouth that his question was probably highly inappropriate, but she merely looked back down at her cup. She gripped her coffee tightly with both hands. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

“No, no.” She shook her head. Though her head was still ducked, he saw her sad smile. After a moment she looked back up. There was a sheen in her eyes, but the tears didn’t fall. “Battle of New York.” Bucky nodded. The men at the warehouse talked about that a lot. The cleanup was still ongoing, and he knew a lot of people died that day – many were first responders. She nodded, drawing herself up. “He was a good man and a loving husband.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t know what else he could say. Guilt raged through him. He may not have been responsible for her husband’s death, but he had been responsible for the deaths of many others. How many people had he caused similar grief? Flashes of a memory from his life before HYDRA came back to him. Exploding bombs that sent snow, dirt, and trees debris raining down on his foxhole. His buddy laying next to him with a German bullet in his brain. German soldiers falling dead. Him pulling the trigger.

Bucky looked away. He was plenty responsible.

“My husband used to say that every soldier comes back with more baggage than he left with. Memories and guilt. Ghosts, too.” Mrs. Grey began softly. Bucky felt her concerned look. His skin began to crawl, itching to run. The walls seemed suddenly oppressive and the crowd much to loud. His heart pounded. It was enough to almost make him wish to be the Winter Soldier again – at least then he couldn’t feel anything. “But baggage can be unpacked.”

“I have to go.” Bucky stood abruptly. He ignored Mrs. Grey’s startled face and made a hasty retreat.

Talking to Mrs. Grey had been a mistake.

Bucky did not make subsequent visits to Starbucks.


End file.
